


Fear of Falling

by SFDoll



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mystery, Romance, Strong Suicidal Themes, Unrequited Ravi, Vertigo movie spoilers, iZombie Spoilers through 3x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-11-14 22:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11217540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SFDoll/pseuds/SFDoll
Summary: Peyton liked the film Vertigo better before her life started to resemble it.  Now she's finding herself embroiled in a mystery where her heart might be the key to everything.





	1. At First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't want to do just a straight rehash of Vertigo here, so while Vertigo fans will recognize the overall plot, elements, and themes... this is going to be a full iZombie take... fitting those elements into the iZombie universe and seeing how they can apply to these characters--particularly in Peyton's perspective. So Peyton isn't going to be rewritten as a retired detective, and Blaine isn't afraid of being possessed by a ghost. 
> 
> Decided to divide this story into a few chapters so I could post faster, since I've had the idea for ages. I'm pushing back a few other fic ideas for now, because I really want this one finished first. Poor thing has waited long enough already. Hope everyone enjoys it so far!

The stillness of the darkened room was only broken by the soft sounds of its sleeping occupant tossing and turning, her long chestnut hair drawn into a messy chignon at the base of her neck to prevent it from tangling while she slept. The blankets had been kicked off during her restless threshing about, the world around her washed away by the shadows dancing in her brain. On the other side of her closed bedroom door a pale man with white blond hair slept only marginally better, having already exhausted himself worrying. 

*|*

Peyton Charles was standing at the edge of an open grave. She had no idea how she'd even gotten to this cemetery or where it was. She knew that Liv was out there somewhere in the darkness. They had been working together tracking down a zombie, but how could that be right? Peyton wasn't equipped for fighting against a raging zombie. She was a lawyer for God's sake!

Through the darkness Peyton could just make out the shape of a white bell-tower, impossibly clear in the night and rising from what looked like an old Spanish mission. It was strangely familiar, but she couldn't escape the nagging feeling that it didn't belong in downtown Seattle. The bell rang out, and Peyton couldn't tell if it was calling or warning her.

Behind her Peyton heard the snap of a twig and the shuffling of feet, and she was vaguely aware of a forest of deathly pale hands rising from the graves around her like exotic and surely toxic mushrooms. Horrible, bloodless, rubbery, spindly, deadly, and to be avoided at all costs. She turned and looked over her shoulder only to see the face of Mr. Boss, white as chalk, with eyes burning red as he rushed her, and Peyton knew that the empty grave before her was her own as she fell forward into the square wound cut into the earth just for her.

And she kept falling, as she fought to scream--falling an impossible distance with the city stretched out before her. Its beautiful lights were almost soothing in their resplendence. The incredible sight was only marred by the certainty that at the end of this plummeting feeling death waited. She awoke with a howling scream, sitting up in bed and staring around at her room as she scrambled to gain her bearings. 

|*|

"So... what? You're playing hooky from work because you had a nightmare?" Liv Moore asked as she removed the liver from the corpse lying on on her autopsy table and placed it into the scale while Ravi documented the weight and state of the organ. The morgue was quiet today, and the peace felt welcoming. Not a thought Peyton ever expected to have about the morgue.

"You never said you had acrophobia," Ravi interjected with a bit too much excitement tinging his posh British accent, and Peyton cast him a disbelieving look. "It's just that dreams of falling like that are often an extension of vertigo carrying over from real life," he explained sheepishly, "and what I wouldn't give for a chance to cure something that didn't involve being dead to at least some degree."

  
Liv punched him lightly in the arm. "Thanks," she groaned, as she slipped off her blue nitrile gloves and left Ravi frowning at the smear of blood she'd left on his white lab coat.

"You're welcome," Ravi called after Liv as she headed into the kitchenette to prepare herself some Thai soup featuring the brains of the late R.D. Thomas-Wright. The clack of her heels on the industrial tile floor receding as she hummed a tune that Peyton didn't quite catch.

"I was actually more afraid of the zombie version of Mr. Boss than the falling," Peyton told Ravi, as he stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I mean I know he's not actually a zombie, but if I'm dreaming about criminals who want me dead, I don't really need them to be any scarier."

"I see your point."

"So, do you have any advice to offer?" Peyton asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the metal table where Ravi was rapidly typing up the autopsy details on his laptop.

He looked up at her, and his dark eyes searched her face for a moment. "I'm afraid dreams of crime bosses, undead or otherwise, are a bit outside my expertise, but fear of heights is often tied to a childhood trauma. If you wanted to cure the acrophobia you could always try Systematic Desensitization. Did you know they used to suggest that a second trauma could fix the trauma induced phobia? I mean, that's hardly responsible medical advice, is it?" He tilted his dark head to the side as he studied Peyton's scowling face.

"It could be stress. I caught Dr. Phips and Dr Alstead talking about a little stress relief in the ladies' room. Apparently Phips just had a night of buck wild sex to take the edge off her ongoing divorce. Maybe you just need a little... you know..." Liv's voice piped up from behind the counter.

"Yeah... It's probably a good thing you're about to eat a new brain," Peyton responded sagely. Her brows drew together, and she pursed her lips. "Just not words you ever get used to saying," she mused to herself, and Ravi shrugged noncommittally.

"Hey! I never said it had to be some skeevy one night stand!" Liv protested, her face entirely too innocent before breaking into a sly smile. "But I didn't say it couldn't be either," she sing-songed. "I promise I won't tell a soul! But seriously, how long has it been? I need some dirt here, and we haven't had a girls' night to dish in forever since you've been working all hours on this damned case lately. The man is in Montenegro. No extradition. You can take a night off."

"Can't wait for the new brain to kick in," Ravi sighed. "I know gossip about our janitor that I'm still trying to scrub from my mind forever."

"Well, you have to admit 'Hairy Tony' is a pretty ironic nickname," Liv retorted. The sound of her chopping lemongrass echoed through the lab, and the scent of herbs and chicken broth began to waft into the room. "Besides, how can you be that freaked out about manscaping? I mean, Peyton, when you two were together--"

Liv's question was interrupted by the sound of Peyton's ringtone, and Petyon reflexively dove for her mobile as though it were a life preserver in the middle of the ocean. She didn't seem to notice the sad look that Ravi directed at her. "Saved by Jeff Buckley," Peyton breathed, "Can I get a Hallelujah?" She bit her lip and shook her head slightly as she looked at the screen of her phone. "Did you change my ringtone? And why would I be getting a call from Angus McDonough?"

"The real-estate tycoon?" Liv asked, and Peyton drew her lips to one side with a shrug.

"Hmmm. Looks like I'd better take this," Peyton announced, hooking her purse around her elbow and striding up the steps and out of the morgue while Ravi watched her departing back in silence and Liv called a merry goodbye. 

|*|

The modern office framed in walls of windows and too much glass gave Peyton a bit of a chill. It felt as cold and severe as the tall and slender man studying her from across the large desk. His sharp features reminded Peyton of a bird of prey, especially the shrewd and ruthless way that he was sizing her up. She studiously avoided venturing too close to the towering windows, just the thought of looking down upon the busy city far below enough to make Peyton sway with a wave of dizziness.

"Ms. Charles," he finally greeted her as he rose to his feet and extended his hand for her to shake. "I'm sorry to have interrrupted your personal day," he began, though Peyton detected no hint of regret in his clipped business tones. "Please, have a seat. May I offer you a drink?" he asked, and he gestured to the bar to her right. He crossed to the bar with his own glass in hand to top off his whiskey while he waited for her order.

"I think I need to know your business with me before I can answer that," Peyton replied, letting the coolness that she felt for this man seep into her voice. It was an instant dislike, and she defiantly remained standing rather than taking the seat he had intended for her.

Surprisingly, he responded with a hearty chuckle. "Sounds like you have some fire in you. Good. We can cut to the chase then. It's better that way." He capped the bottle and shot her a self-satisfied grin.

"I have a discreet family problem that I fear could be tied to the Max Rager case your office is handling," Angus McDonough explained bluntly. "I'm not sure if my son has information that can help you, or if the weak, little shit has finally gone around the bend."

"If you decided to call a lawyer instead of a doctor I would hope you think his story has at least some merit," Peyton admonished, earning another cold smile.

"The entire point of your case against Vaughn DuClark revolves around how the Max Rager product has been shown to have serious mental side effects in some subjects that were covered up. It could certainly explain the nonsense my son has been spouting, and my own relationship with that company was less than amicable if you know what I mean," Angus admitted. He took a sip of his whiskey and resumed his careful study of her. "I can't rule out that my son has been targetted in an act of corporate espionage."

Biting her lips to stop herself from suggesting that Mr. McDonough might not be unfamiliar with corporate malfeasance himself, Peyton nodded stiffly. "I see. So you want me to depose him and see if his story matches with the kinds of complaints that we've been receiving." She could feel her stomach churn with the thought that Max Rager was involved in this affair and the fear of what that could mean. "His story must be pretty severe for you to raise the question of his mental wellness," she added, fishing for more details.

"It is," Angus confirmed. His deep and scratchy voice became grave. "There's also a bit of family history to consider." He drained the rest of his whiskey. "His mother committed suicice when Blaine was a child, and I was forced to institutionalize my own father some years ago. I'm not sure what kinds of hallucinations or psychotic breaks your office is coming across, but I hope you can understand why I need you to depose my son outside the confines of your office." He paused, as though reluctant to say more, before finally announcing, "My son is claiming that Max Rager turned him into a zombie."

Peyton could feel her stomach drop, and she hoped that she'd managed to recover before Angus McDonough had registered the way that her jaw had gaped open at his statement. "Yeah. Considering the reported symptoms, I think it's worth taking that deposition," she told him, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. "If it's not too much trouble, I think I'll have that drink before I go."

Angus gave a quiet snort in response. "Sure. Whiskey okay?" She nodded, and he replied, "I'll get you the address where my son plays piano while you finish your drink. And my private cell so you can update me if you run across any information that is of concern."

"Fatherly devotion in action?" Peyton asked.

"I prefer to think of it as heading off a potential PR nightmare," Angus said, and he shoved a tumbler of whiskey into her hand.

  
|*|

The bar of the Imperial wasn't overly crowded in the early evening. Mostly businessmen and a few couples meeting up for a drink before dinner. Peyton had arrived early and incognito to get a look at Mr. McDonough's son before actually introducing herself to a potential zombie, who could be dangerous. "Maybe I should have called Liv," Peyton thought to herself as she swirled the drink she'd been nursing and waited for the man in question to arrive and take his place at the piano. Her earliness had allowed her a choice vantage point, seated at a stool perfectly lined up with the piano and with a clear path unhindered by any of the tables and booths that filled the lounge.

Peyton had changed into a long black skirt and black sleeveless top with a cream chain pattern running up it, so that she looked at home among the businesspeople and wouldn't have to fend off too many advances from singles mistaking her for a woman on the prowl.

Her head jerked as she caught sight of a man with artfully mussed and impossibly blond hair entering the bar, and her first thought was, "Well, that's certainly the right color if he's going for 'undead blond' this season." His skin was a glowing rosy tone that spoke of life, but she'd heard plenty about zombies using makeup and spray tans to conceal their true nature. As the trust-fund son of Angus McDonough, Blaine would certainly have his choice of estheticians.

He wore a fitted sapphire shirt with the top few buttons opened to reveal the tender hollow at the base of his throat and just a hint of his smooth chest. The button over the pectorals strained slightly as he moved, emphasizing the toned muscles beneath the slightly irridescent fabric. His lithe frame narrowed down to gracefully long legs clad in flawless black slacks. He nudged the piano bench back with his designer shoes, and Peyton caught herself angling for a better view of the slight curve of his small, firm ass peeking out from the tail of his shirt.

His pale winter blue eyes briefly flickered over her as he began to play a cover of She's Not There by The Zombies, and Peyton felt a rush of heat that caused her to press her knees tightly together. His warm and slightly husky tenor filled the room easily, and the left corner of his mouth pulled into a crooked grin that left Peyton forcibly reminding herself that she was here to scope him out--not take him home.

She turned her back to the bar and pretended to concentrate on her drink, only stealing stray glances at the man as she tried to get a feel for the situation. If he seemed to be just another of the humans who suffered a temporary rage effect, she could simply introduce herself and question him about his Max Rager story. If she suspected he was truly a zombie, the wise course would be to stake him out until she knew he was safe enough to approach.

Peyton was still wrestling with the issue when Blaine McDonough stood to take his final bow. She stiffened as he sauntered up to the bar directly behind her, and she held her breath as she waited to learn whether her decision had just been made for her. Instead of approaching her he called out a friendly greeting to the bartender and asked the man to relay a message to the owner that Blaine wanted to talk about taking a little time off.

Without so much as a glance at Peyton--Blaine wound up his conversation with a friendly joke and with a little wave to his coworker headed towards the door. Peyton hurriedly grabbed her clutch and trailed after him while her common sense screamed at her that this was a terrible idea.

She followed as far back as she could to avoid detection. Blaine's first stop was a nearby liquor store where he emerged with a paper bag encasing a high quality bottle of wine. Peyton had to take a hard turn into the nearest parking space when he ducked down an alley towards the rear door to a florist shop, well after business hours. Watching from the mouth of the alley, Peyton saw him greet the pretty, young proprietor with a hug and step inside. Rather than wait conspicusouly on the street Peyton ducked into the coffee shop overlooking the alley and waited, wondering if her ill-advised adventure had come to a premature end with nothing more unusual than a late-night hookup.

Ten minutes later he was back with two bouquets of roses and lilies, and Peyton clambered into her car and prepared to follow as he slid back into his black sedan. Any romantic notions that she may have harbored about the wine and flowers slowly died as he drove towards Capitol Hill, passed Volunteer Park, parked in the first available spot, and walked a couple of blocks back to Lake View Cemetery.

He placed his purchases on the ground before wedging himself carefully between a large rhododendron and the chain-link fence, and Peyton could hear him softly singing to himself as he produced a pair of wire clippers from his inside jacket pocket and began snipping an opening through the fence. When he was done, he gathered up his belongings and slipped expertly inside while Peyton struggled to cautiously keep up without being noticed. His fair skin and white hair nearly glowed in the moonlight, and Peyton could easily follow his movements even from a distance.

He headed towards a section filled with expensive looking monuments, and Peyton ducked down, creeping behind the headstones as his pace slowed. He stopped before a marble statuette of an angel, and he removed a bouquet of spent flowers from its urn, replacing it with one of the bouquets he'd brought.  He spoke to whomever was interred there for a few minutes while Peyton crept closer so she could try to hear better.

Without warning he rose and began to walk in her direction, and Peyton's heart leapt into her throat at the fear of being caught hunkered behind a gravestone by this stranger whom she'd been spying upon. She silently prayed to herself to not be discovered as he drew closer, and she felt as if her heart were ready to burst from her chest when he came to a stop on the other side of the large monument where she was crouched. She could hear him arranging the fresh flowers as he had before, and then she could hear him settling himself against the other side of the stone as he sat with his back against the cold marble.

"Hey, Grandpa," he said listlessly. "It's been a hell of a couple of days." The crinkling sound of a paper bag broke the stillness of the cemetery, and then Peyton could hear him deftly opening the bottle of wine. "I'd have brought you some music, but I couldn't make it during open hours today... so we're gonna just have to have a stealthy visit tonight." He paused, and Peyton could hear him splashing some of the wine onto the damp earth beneath them.

"It's that Pinot Noir you liked so much when we went on the wine tour after I got kicked out of... oh, does it even matter which one it was at this point?" he said with a dry chuckle. He took a swig of wine himself and sighed. "Back to the topic at hand, it's probably best we forego the music anyhow, Gramps. Been very Satie... Gnossiene No. 1 lately." He paused to take another drink and flopped back against the monument, and Peyton winced at the sound of him accidentally smacking the back of his head against the marble behind him.

She could picture him rubbing the back of his head as he uttered a few mild curses. "Ow. Message received. No more threatening you with melancholy music," he promised, and she could clearly picture that lopsided grin. "I don't know anymore. Things have been all kinds of strange around here. Dad thinks I'm just--" he broke into the universal whistle for 'crazy'. The sounds of wine sloshing around in the bottle told her that Blaine had spilled another drink for his grandfather before taking a sip himself.

"I'm not sure what I am anymore," Blaine admitted, his voice pensive. "I'm starting to wonder if I died that night 'cause nothing else is making a whole lot of sense here..." He breathed out in frustration, and then there was only the sounds of swishing wine while he finished the bottle lost in his own thoughts.

Peyton wondered what he'd meant by that, but he didn't seem inclined to offer any further details. She huddled into herself for warmth while listening to his quiet movements and taking in the smell of the recently clipped grass while watching the moonlight play across rows of monuments and casting shadows over the grassy resting places of its dead denizens.

When he finally rose to leave, Peyton pressed herself into the shadow of the large headstone, afraid to even breathe until he'd moved far enough away that she would no longer be easy to spot.

Peyton wondered if he was simply going to head home for the night with his errand seemingly done, and she considered simply heading home herself. Something was gnawing at her though--something in the way he sat silently drinking in a city of the dead frightened her, and she decided to make sure that he did, indeed, get safely home.

She retrieved her car where she'd used her official tags to park illegally, and she circled ahead to where Blaine had parked so she was in position to tail him once he was back on the move. He didn't seem dangerous to Peyton anymore, but she certainly couldn't rule out whether or not he was a zombie. She almost wished for an excuse to approach him and secretly test him.

She caught sight of Blaine's face as he finally trudged up the street towards his car, and something about the hollow, distant look in his eyes made her stomach sink. It was the look of a drowning man reaching for anything to save himself. She knew Blaine must be in a truly dark place, and she knew that after ensuring he got safely home tonight she would have to interecede soon. She wondered if Liv might be able to help her, but she still wasn't sure what Blaine even knew or whether he was human or... not.

He pulled out and began heading away through the late night streets, and Peyton followed silently praying that her fears were unfounded. He drove towards Elliott Bay, and Peyton's jaw locked as she fought back her worries.

Her heart continued to sink when Blaine parked and stalked along the waterfront on foot. He snuck onto the pier, and there he stood with his back to her his hair rustling in the ocean breeze as he stared into the blackness of the ocean. He began to climb onto the railing, and Peyton completely forgot about trying to avoid detection.

"Mr. McDonough!" she called out, rushing towards him with her arms out as she tried to grab him in time. If he heard her, he didn't acknowledge, instead leaning forward and plunging into the inky waters swirling against the pylons below.

 


	2. Head Over Heels

Peyton pulled off her heels, dropping them by her clutch, and scrambled over the wooden railing—pushing herself up in the corner and swinging her legs over the top of the rail so that she was balanced on the lip of the pier clinging to the rail behind her. Her insides lurched as she accidentally looked down, and she slammed her eyes shut. She kept them shut as she propelled herself into the air, reduced to jumping feet first, and she plummetted after Blaine into the swirling ocean below. She feared that she wouldn't be able to locate him in the darkness before the current claimed them both, and she only hoped that summers of swimming and lifeguarding throughout her teens would be enough to get them through this crazy rescue attempt.

The nighttime water stabbed against her skin like cold daggers, the piercing pain lancing though her limbs and making her chest seize, as she scanned the water for any sign of Blaine. She caught a final glimmer of his white hair in the moonlight before he sank below the waves, and she ducked beneath the water and swam after him with all the power she could muster.

Her legs kicked against water that felt thick with the cold—like something viscous, and alive, and fighting her at every stroke. The bright moonlight quickly faded away, leaving her groping blindly for Blaine in the black depths. She felt the give of his flesh slipping against her fingers, and she clutched at him knowing that if she missed him now she might not be able to find him again in this watery darkness. She narrowly seized his hand and lifted him towards her as his weight dragged her downwards through the water.

Grasping him from behind she pulled his unresponsive form towards the surface, her lungs burning with every second spent battling for life beneath the buffeting waves, and she gasped for sweet air as their heads broke the surface of the swells. Her entire body ached from the cold and the strain. Blaine's body rocked limply in her arms as she struggled to find a place to pull them both ashore, and she cradled his head against her shoulder to keep his head above water.

Finding a good spot she dragged Blaine towards the safety of land, where she crouched over his unconscious form sighing in relief at his regular breathing and his very human heartbeat. Peyton was shivering uncontrollably after their cold dip in the ocean, but she realized that due to the wine back in the cemetery Blaine wasn't shivering enough.

Liv had told her back in college how alcohol dilated the blood vessels and actually increased the danger of hypothermia. Blaine had seemed unaffected by however much of the wine he'd drunk earlier, but now Petyon was worried that perhaps he had been more affected than she'd realized. She privately kicked herself for even letting him drive rather than doing something to stop him. For now, though, she had to concentrate on getting him someplace warm and out of his wet clothes.

"It's okay. I'm gonna take you somewhere you can warm up, but it would really help me if you could try to walk a little," Peyton told him, as she lightly slapped his cheek a few times in an attempt to rouse him. Then she wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled the now barely conscious man to his feet. She stumbled as she tried to find her balance under his shifting weight, and—bobbing and weaving—she lugged him towards her car, stopping to retrieve her shoes and bag when they reached the top of the embankment.

She hefted him into the passenger's seat with a sigh of relief. His startling blue eyes gazed unfixed upon her while she repeated her promise to take care of him, and then he fell back into unconsciousness. She rubbed her lower back as she got in behind the wheel, and she cranked up the heat before dialing Liv to make sure she had help getting him up to the apartment once she arrived home.

Liv was still raking Peyton over the coals about her reckless escapades while they piled an unconscious Blaine onto the towel covering Peyton's bed and set to work stripping away the wet clothes that clung to his cold skin.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Liv demanded, pulling off one of Blaine's shoes and dropping it into the puddle forming at Peyton's bedside.

"I was thinking that if he was a zombie it would be better to find out before introducing any of ourselves to him and that either way we might learn more about what Max Rager was secretly doing in case there's anything else that could come back to bite us in the ass!" Peyton huffed.

She fumbled with the buttons on Blaine's shirt, finally getting the last button on his cuffs free and pulling the sopping fabric away from his skin. She let it slip to the floor, and quickly grabbed a fluffy towel from the stack at her side to dry him. "Then when I suspected what he was about to do, I was thinking I had to help him before Vaughn DuClark could destroy yet another life even from beyond the grave."

Liv motioned for Peyton to help her, and Peyton paused rubbing the towel over his arms and chest to stand and unfasten Blaine's belt and slacks. Then together they managed to shuck Blaine free of the heavy wet fabric. Peyton made sure there was a towel wrapped loosely around the man's hips as Liv gathered up his pants and boxers and began taking all the wet clothes away to be cleaned and dried.

"What am I going to do with _you?"_ Peyton wondered aloud as she removed the wet towel from beneath him before it could soak further into the mattress. Then she began toweling off Blaine's legs. She laid her hand across his calf, the pale golden hairs on his legs soft against her palm and his skin still icy to the touch. A small tremor ran through his body at the contact, and he whimpered softly trying to get closer to the warmth of her presence. "And what the hell did Max Rager do to you?"

Peyton was bundling Blaine beneath a small pile of blankets when Liv returned, all the used towels lying in a pile beside the bed. "I'll finish mopping up the floor, you need to get out of those wet clothes and start warming up too," Liv offered, and Peyton nearly hugged her in response before thinking better of it.

"Thank you!" Peyton gushed. "I"m just going to rinse off fast under a hot shower. Hopefully we still have at least one towel left. Want me to put up some coffee?" She grabbed a warm sweat shirt and her favorite yoga pants out of a dresser drawer, and she looked over at the shorter woman moving one of the towels around the floor with her foot.

"I'll take care of the coffee. You just hurry so you can keep an eye on sleeping beauty here," Liv responded. "After all, if you're gonna start bringing home strays, young lady, taking care of them is your responsibility," Liv said in a lecturing tone. She gave Peyton a brief flash of smile.

The heat of the shower felt heavenly, but Peyton didn't really have time to enjoy it. She washed quickly and dressed before heading back to the living room. Sitting on their grey couch in her dry clothes with a towel wrapped around her hair and three pairs of socks on each foot, Peyton reluctantly pulled out Angus McDonough's business card. She dialed his number on her mobile, and he picked up on the third ring.

"Ms. Charles, I didn't expect to hear from you so soon," Angus answered. His voice seemed carefully detached, and she had the mental image of Angus McDonough as a giant spider just waiting in his web for any tugging at the silks around him to alert him to trouble in his empire.

"Mr. McDonough, I'm sorry to disturb you at this late hour, but I thought you would want to know that your son decided to jump into the bay tonight," Peyton told him.

There was a moment of silence on the line, and then Angus responded in the same voice one might use to deal with a particularly tedious subordinate. "I take it since you're the one calling me—rather than the hospital or police—that you were on hand to deal with the trouble."

Peyton's fingers curled into a fist. The man hadn't even bothered to ask after his son's wellfare. "He's fine by the way. Safe. Resting. I haven't had the chance to talk to him yet," Peyton informed him.

"Fine," Angus replied curtly. "Call me again if there's something to tell." With that the line went dead in Peyton's ear, and she was left staring at her mobile with her face twisted in a mixture of disgust and disbelief. She pulled the towel from her head and threw it at the wall behind her while imagining the sneering face of the elder McDonough. She decided to go check on her houseguest before she could become too fixated on dreams of throttling his father.

From the doorwary to her room, Peyton watched Blaine's peaceful face as he slept, his chest rising and falling in easy slumber. Peyton thought to herself that a face so full of boyish innocence shouldn't fill her with the type of thoughts that the sight of him asleep in her bed inspired.

She wasn't sure how long she'd stood there staring before he stirred, stretching like a satisfied housecat before opening his eyes and staring at the unfamiliar surroundings with his confused thoughts clearly evident as he struggled to make sense of the situation. He peeked below the blankets, quickly confirming what his senses had already told him about his state of complete undress.

His eyes lit upon Peyton, and his expression brightened for a moment. "You'll have to excuse me," Blaine told her with an unreadable expression on his soft features. "But I'm really not in the habit of waking up naked in the bed of a complete stranger."

"Well, that makes us even," Peyton told him, unable to keep the sauciness out of her voice, "I'm not in the habit of loaning my bed out to complete strangers after fishing them out of the bay." She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe as she met his gaze.

His eyebrows lifted in surprise, and Blaine McDonough stared at her with keen interest. "So you're a good samaritan with an aversion to hospitals?" he asked, and Peyton could swear he seemed almost amused by the situation.

"I'm Peyton Charles with the District Attorney's office," Peyton began. "Your father thought that perhaps you might have had an experience that would help in our case against Max Rager. He wanted me to depose you outside the office to avoid publicity, but you ended up in the bay before I could introduce myself."

"So I was at the pier after closing to meet you?" Blaine asked, propping himself up on his elbow and the blankets slid to his waist with the movement. He seemed completely at ease, as though he belonged there, lounging in her sheets and fixing her with a dubious stare.

"No," Peyton admitted. "I was nervous about meeting you outside the office, so I decided to make sure I felt it was safe before approaching you. I caught your show tonight, and followed you just to make sure—"

"You mean... you _stalked_ me?," Blaine interrupted. His lopsided grin was back making Peyton's heart do funny things in her chest, and his eyes danced with amusement.

"I _surveiled_ you," Peyton corrected lifting her chin and presenting as much of her professional bearing as sweats, yoga pants, and multiple layers of socks would allow.

"Since I'm waking up naked in your bed, I should say you did," Blaine retorted still obviously amused by the situation and clearly enjoying the verbal sparring match between them.

Peyton's cheeks grew hot at the insinuation. As attracted as she was to the man currently making himself at home in her bed, she had gone out of her way to avoid ogling him during the ordeal of trying to ensure he didn't become hypothermic. "I think you should know that my roommate is a doctor with E.R. experience, and, perhaps despite appearances, your modesty is very much intact," she informed him. "And between mopping up after you, keeping you covered, and drying you off it took nearly every towel in the apartment."

"That's a pity," Blaine smiled, "but my modesty thanks you for the sacrifice of your towels."

Peyton laughed openly at that, and Blaine beamed back at her, seemingly very proud of himself for having finally earned a smile from her. Peyton grabbed her silky kimono robe off the hook on the back of her door, and offered it to him. "It's not much for warmth, but I can get you a throw blanket too. Would you like some coffee?" she asked, turning around and heading back to the living room.

Blaine luxuriated in the feel of the silk gliding over his bare skin as he wrapped himself in the thin robe. "Much obliged. You don't happen to have any socks left that I could borrow?" he asked. He followed after Peyton, taking a seat on the couch and quickly wrapping himself in the fleece blanket that she took from the linen closet and handed him.

Peyton poured a cup of steaming coffee into a large mug for him, and placed it on the tray on the ottomen along with cream and sugar so that he could fix it however he liked. "I know it's been a long night, but we really need to talk about how you ended up in Elliott Bay," Peyton told him. Her voice was so soft that it seemed she feared he was made of glass so delicate that a single wrong word might break him.

Blaine hesitated for a moment before taking a sip of his coffee. "I'm not sure what my father told you, Ms. Charles, but I'm afraid he may have wasted your time," he told her evenly, "and, as for how I ended up in the bay, it was purely an accident. I had a little too much to drink, and I'm very sorry for the trouble I've caused you."

"Please, call me Peyton," she told him, "and I can assure you from what your father said your account would fit right in with the type of reports my office has been receiving. We've had all kinds of mental and physical side effects: mood swings, violent rage, psychotic breaks, physical changes requiring special lifestyle changes to cope. Some of the most severe reactions involved an interaction between Max Rager and a particular strain of the drug Utopium. There is nothing that you could tell me that would shock me."

"It sounds like you're saying I was either temporarily crazy or just really, really high," Blaine responded without looking up from his mug.

"I don't think you're crazy. I couldn't tell your father, but this isn't the first time the word 'zombie' has come up in this investigation either," Peyton promised. She wasn't sure what had happened to him, but she knew it had left him scared and filled with questions. She took a seat beside him on the couch and leaned against the back cushions. "I think you need to know that from the outset, because we both know it was no accident you ended up in the bay. I want to help. Please, tell me everything you can remember about what happened."

Blaine stared at her, clearly deep in thought. He nodded his reluctant agreement, and his fingers tightened around the mug in his hands. The look in his eyes grew distant, as he thought back to the events Peyton wanted him to describe. "Last week Angus ordered me to attend a PR event at an acquaintance's penthouse--the son of another influential businessman. There was Utopium on hand, and the drinks were flowing like a fountain," he began.

"One of the guys working at the party used to sell me the occassional bag of weed, and he gave me a free sample of his latest product," Blaine admitted. He cast Peyton an uncertain glance. "He said it was a special blend of Utopium. I shouldn't have... but back in the day he was sort of a friend during a pretty rough time. I trusted him."

"So what happened?" Peyton prompted, leaning towards him. She watched curiously as Blaine pulled his legs up onto the couch so he was sitting cross-legged under the throw and facing her.

Blaine took a sip of his coffee. "Turns out the event was sponsored by Max Rager. Rita DuClark was there, and she said she wanted to meet with a few of us privately. She had some armed mercenary type guarding the door. Offered us a few Max Rager drinks and said she had a business deal for us to take back to our respective families. As far as we all knew it was what we were all there for," he explained.

"Then what?" Peyton asked. Blaine was staring intently into his coffee, as though it were a scrying glass showing him visions of the past. His blue eyes appeared glazed over with distant trouble creeping out of his memories.

"It happened quickly. One moment I was just sitting there waiting for Rita's presentation and the next I was... raging out, I guess is the way to describe it. I was famished, and I was ready to rip apart anyone who got close enough, ready to crack their heads open. The gunman at the door was shooting tranquilizers into us all, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in a body bag in the basement of a funeral home." Blaine shuddered at the memory, and Peyton laid her hand on his arm to comfort him. His eyes fixed upon her hand before his gaze travelled to her face, and he met her eyes.

"The rage was gone, and I could think clearly. I remember wondering if I had died. I was still so hungry, and the only thing that sounded good to me was brains," Blaine confessed. "Don E. was standing over me—Don Eberhard, the guy I mentioned earlier. He said the funeral home was his place and that from now on I was going to help Rita DuClark with her business plans in exchange for the brains I needed," Blaine explained.

"Her business plans?"

"She wanted to take over Max Rager, and she planned to use info and favors to strengthen her position in the company while eroding her father's," Blaine told her.

"But your pulse... you're human," Peyton protested, and Blaine's eyes widened in surprise. He cocked his head to the side while studying her closely.

"That's some pretty specific knowledge of zombies you've got there," Blaine finally said, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and suspicion. "I'm not one anymore, but I'm not sure how or even for how long. I think I'm on borrowed time, and I don't want to go back to that... to being dead... to being someone's pawn." Blaine's eyes grew remote, and his expression reminded Peyton uncomfortably of the hopeless look he'd worn returning to his car.

Suddenly, Peyton understood Blaine's cryptic comment to his grandfather and why he'd tried to fling himself into the bay earlier. In Blaine's mind he feared he was already dead and that at any moment he might return to being a creature with no future—reliant upon the grace of others for the brains he needed for his continued existence. He'd rather die on his own terms. Peyton realized there was only one way she might change his mind.

"Hey, Liv! Can you come out here for a minute?" Peyton called, craning her neck so that she could shout down the hall while Blaine watched curiously. The click of a door sounded from the hallway, and a few moments later a small woman with strikingly white hair and skin joined them in the living room. "Blaine McDonough, I want you to meet my roommate Dr. Olivia Moore."

Blaine nearly dropped the coffee mug in his hands, and his head jerked back in shock. "Well, that explains a few things..." he breathed.


	3. To His Death

Peyton and Blaine sat in her car looking at the stately Victorian house decorated with colorful flowers tucked into pots and hanging baskets along its porch. Oceans of hostas grew in beds flanking either side of the walk. A prodigious vine climbed along one side of the house, covering and shading it as if the place had been there forever. A large sign announcing the name Shady Plots Funeral Home stood on the front lawn. To Peyton's eye the place appeared to be the very picture of tranquility on the surface. She looked across at Blaine sitting in the passenger seat of her car. He was watching the building warily, his blue eyes narrowed and focused upon the edifice as though its very existence on this Earth constituted a threat.

"You okay?" Peyton asked. If they were going into this building to confront Blaine's old friend, she needed to know he was focused on their plan. Blaine had been certain that his old dealer would be less than forthcoming if he knew that Peyton was a lawyer with the D.A.'s office. That's why Peyton would be going in undercover, so to speak.

"Yeah. It's time to get some answers," Blaine replied, turning his head to look at her. He wore a determined expression, his gaze burning into her and his jaw set. With a nod they exited the car. Peyton came around the front and offered Blaine her hand. Then together they climbed the porch steps and headed through the thick glass front door into the dimness of the heavily woodpaneled foyer.

"Be with you in just a second," came an exuberant though slightly nasal male voice from the mostly open office just up a couple of steps from the entryway. Peyton arched her neck for a better view as Blaine studied a non-descript, green landscape hanging opposite the office--his back consciously to the room. He kept Peyton's hand loosely grasped in his own--a calming lifeline.

"So what can I do you fine folks for today?" asked a shorter man in a black suit as he pranced down the step towards them with his arms outstretched wide. He was quite young with a clean shaven head and animated brown eyes that flickered over them as though calculating how much of a profit they were good for. His broad smile faltered as he recognized Blaine.

Blaine made a tutting noise and swung around to face the man. "I hope you don't mind that I didn't enter in a bodybag this time," he told the suddenly unsure proprietor. "But I thought considering my sudden return to the land of the living, it would be more appropriate to use the front door. Peyton, this is Don E. Don E,.... I've got a few questions for you."

"Blaaaaiiiine! Buddy! Good to see you rockin' the human look, and you even got yourself a little hun-naaay. Good for you, man!" The man's smile was glued back in place and stretched from ear to ear looking like it might crack under the strain.

"I'm sure you're tickled pink...good friend that you are," Blaine responded. "And being that you're such a good friend and so happy for me, I'm sure you'd be happy to help me and my lady friend out. See, our happiness would be a lot more permanent if we knew my condition was permanent... or even how it happened." Blaine's eyes widened dramatically as he spoke, and he gave a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Peyton could see anger simmering below the surface of Blaine's features, and Don E. must have been able to see it too. She stepped forward to put herself between the two men. "What Blaine's trying to say is it would be a load off our minds. Being sure that he isn't going to turn back... that he can't accidentally turn me," she added, squeezing Blaine's fingers warningly.

"I can't help noticing you're pretty hip to a really big secret... something nooobody would just believe," Don E. noted. He looked between Blaine and Peyton, and his eyes were hard as daggers with suspicion.

"Well, when a guy beats away a couple of muggers, and then his eyes turn red, it stands out," Peyton responded, making sure to maintain eye contact. She felt Blaine place his hand on her shoulder, and she leaned against him.

Don E. pursed his lips in thought for a moment. Then he nodded and waved for them to follow him downstairs. "I'm not supposed to tell you any of this, but with Rita dead I'm not gonna see a cent of what she owes me any-who," he began. They followed with a shared look behind his back, and he lead them down to the privacy of the embalming room where he proceeded to fix himself a snack while they spoke.

"Apparently, your new boo isn't the only person you've managed to convince you were a zombie. Dunno what happened between you and your pops, but your dad contacted Rita and cut a deal," Don E. explained as he pulled a brain out of the fridge and set it on the metal table while searching for a knife.

"My father? Not possible," Blaine interjected. "Not only did he tell me that I'm nuts, but I'm pretty sure that if I was on fire he'd be the first one handy with the gasoline." He crossed his arms defensively, and he toed at the floor with the tip of his shoe.

"Well, you probably have that last part right, cause the deal sure wasn't to help _you_ ," Don E. admitted as he sliced off a serving of brain and began to cut it into cubes. Peyton averted her eyes, and covered her mouth. "See the deal was that Angus would not only help Rita topple Vaughn but he'd pay her to help him topple you. Rita told him she had some kinda tentative cure, and good ol' Angus convinced her to give it to you. But the plan was that when you came sniffing around for answers, we were supposed to deny everything... especially to anybody from the D.A.'s office, ya know?"

"My dad wanted people to think I was crazy," Blaine echoed, his voice hollow but his eyes swimming with emotions. Peyton laced her fingers with his, and he squeezed back as he shut his eyes tightly for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, all traces of emotion were gone.

"Yup," Don E. told him. "Wanted to convince people you'd taken after your mom and gramps... get you locked away somewhere... or drive you to eat a bullet." He pulled a slice of pizza out of a box in the fridge and plopped it onto a paper plate. Then he dumped the hunks of brain on top, doused it with hotsauce, and popped it into the microwave.

"You were just willing to go along with all this?" Peyton asked, unable to keep the derision out of her voice. She realized that Blaine had unconsciously placed an arm in front of her to hold her back.

"Hey! It's nothing personal, but pizza don't buy itself. I laid out some serious cash to start this business. For a million dollars I was willing to keep my trap shut," Don E. countered. "But then whatever the hell else Rita was into went sideways, and I guess she got herself blown up. Bye bye, payday!"

"My condolences," Blaine ground out. Peyton shot him a warning look.

"What else do you know about the antidote?" she asked, hoping that Don E. had been too distracted by the smell of his meal to notice Blaine's tone.

It seemed he had, or he simply didn't care, as he pulled the plate out of the microwave with a sigh and greedily took a bite of pizza. His contentment turned to muffled cries of "Hot! Hot! Hot!" as he tried to blow on the liquid cheese bomb burning his tongue. After he'd finally managed to swallow, he turned his attention to Peyton. "The antidote was in the last serving of brains I gave him. Dunno, if it's permanent. Rita seemed worried about that. Good news is, if you lovebirds do end up with a craving for some grey matter, I've got your back... for a reasonable fee."

A look passed between the two men. Then Blaine's diaphragm heaved once as though moved by a snort of laughter, but there wasn't any sound from him. Peyton knew it was time to leave. She pushed Blaine towards the stairs ahead of her while thanking Don E. for his help, and the small man grinned while chewing his lunch and waving after them. "Yeah, thanks for everything," Blaine muttered as he started up the treads.

"Oy, Blaine!" the smaller man shouted after them. "I hope the cure sticks, man," he told them--his voice serious.

"Yeah, me too," Blaine answered softly as they left.

|*|

Blaine released a deep breath, as Ravi listened intently to his lungs through a stethoscope. Peyton stood beside Blaine with her arms crossed, her foot nervously tapping, as she waited for Ravi to finish the examination. Meanwhile, Liv was looking from one person to the next and squirming over the growing tension. Liv had filled Ravi in on the previous night's events, and he'd been less than enthusiastic about the prospect of a stranger sleeping over in Peyton and Liv's apartment. His displeasure had translated into a terse demeanor that hadn't made the exam situation any easier, as Blaine had left Shady Plots in the same dark state of mind Peyton had been hoping to alleviate.

Eventually, Ravi stepped away, pulling the earpieces free and letting the stethoscope hang from his neck. "Well, your breathing is clear, and your heart sounds good. At present at least you are a very healthy human being," Ravi announced. Peyton winced at the qualifying statement that Ravi had made sure to include, and Blaine looked like he was already waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"So is there any way of predicting whether or not the cure is a success?" Peyton asked in an anxious tone. "If it's a success, maybe we could use Blaine's blood to find a cure for Liv. But if it's not a success, we need to know what kind of consequences we could be looking at," she continued, and Blaine grimaced from his seat on the metal table.

"I will be checking Blaine's blood to examine the antibodies present, and I'll run a few tests. With any luck we could make a breakthrough on our own attempts at a cure," Ravi said. He paused to label the vials of blood he'd already taken from Blaine, and his shoulders tightened. He took a deep breath and blew it out noisily. Then he fixed Blaine with a look. "The less good news is that there is no way for me to predict if the cure you were given will be permanent. Our first attempts at a cure reverted to zombie form... and died."

"If that's the less good news, I'd hate to hear the bad news," Blaine huffed. He rolled down his sleeve, still flexing his arm after having had his blood drawn. He hopped off the table and picked up the black suit jacket lying folded across the cold metal. Liv and Peyton glared at Ravi.

"It's not necessarily as bad as Ravi made it sound. You've already outlived the first test rat that we cured. The second rat didn't die until a few months after reverting, and we have created a third cure. That rat is still alive! ...Though we still don't know the longterm effects the cure could have or how it would work on a human subject. If you revert and show any dangerous symptoms, we can give you that cure," Liv explained in a nervous rush of verbal diarrhea, as Blaine slipped on his jacket clearly in a hurry to get out of the morgue.

Peyton looked as if she were contemplating hitting herself in the head. "It's a good thing your patients are all dead, because your bedside manner sucks," she fumed at the pair of them. "The less good news?! Really?!" she barked at Ravi as she rushed to catch up to Blaine, who seemed unable to leave the room quickly enough.

Liv and Ravi shared a look of mutual understanding for a moment, before both lowering their eyes sadly. Neither could think of much to say as they privately chastized themselves, and eventually they settled into a routine of distracting themselves with small tasks around the morgue to cope while they worked through their personal feelings.

|*|

Over the next few days Peyton and Blaine also found themselves avoiding any meaningful discussion of either Blaine's feelings about Angus's plan to rid himself of Blaine or of the news that not only might Blaine revert to being a zombie at any moment but also that it might be fatal.

Instead they tried to focus on trying to prove Don E.'s story and finding a way to catch Angus in his own plot. When they hit a wall, they simply switched to discussing subjects to divert their thoughts or lapsed into companionable silence. It had taken some time, but Peyton had finally managed to subpeona Angus's banking records. Blaine had arrived at her office with take away for dinner, so they could pore over them together.

"Hey!" Peyton greeted warmly as she looked up to see him standing in her doorway, leaning against the wooden jamb. His eyes grew soft, and his lips turned up in the slightest of grins. The way he looked at her filled Peyton's chest with warmth and filled her head with giddy thoughts.

"Hey..." he greeted breathlessly in return as he joined her at her desk. "I hope you're in the mood for Japanese, because I brought _you_ some of the best sushi in the city," he promised. He proferred the bag in his hands, and with a smile Peyton began to unpack it on her desk.

"Wait! Why are there candles in this bag?" Peyton asked in merry befuddlement, and Blaine gave her a look of excessive innocence.

"Ambience?" he suggested hopefully, and Peyton laughed. "And on that note, I think we could use a little music as well." He pulled out his phone while Peyton lit the candles with a shake of her head. The slow, plaintive wail of a blues guitar licked over them as Blaine rested his phone on the desk, and he pulled Peyton close--swaying her in time with the music as So Easy to Love You by Magic Slim and the Teardrops drifted from the speakers.

Peyton snaked her arms around him and allowed herself to enjoy the fact that Blaine's mood seemed to be improving now that their efforts were starting to make real headway. His fingers traced up and down her back, and his lips raked over her temple. A thrill thrummed through her at his closeness, and she was hyperaware of every place their bodies touched.

Their hips swung in slow circles together, as Blaine pressed her tightly against him--his leg between hers and his hand at the small of her back. He planted a kiss on her forehead then dusted a trail of kisses down her nose with delicate brushes of his lips before claiming her lips with his own. Their tongues danced with each other as well, twirling and circling one another as they rubbed together--a langourous and luxurious massage that left Peyton's knees weak and trembling.

They seperated only when the need for air became imperitive, but their faces lingered in the nearness of the other, unwilling to surrender a precious inch. Instead they stared into each other's eyes while their hips continued to gyrate in time with the soaring cries of the keening guitar, their breaths mingling with one another as they took turns breathing in and out.

"I don't wanna have to die," Blaine blurted out. His soft voice sounded frayed by the mournful confession, and Peyton wondered how much he'd been obsessing over the worst case scenario. Uncertainty and sadness clouded his normally bright gaze, as he searched her eyes for some kind of answer... but she had no idea what the question was on his mind.

Peyton cupped his cheek in her hand, stroking the pad of her thumb over his cheekbone. "Hey. If you turn back, we still have another cure. You're not going anywhere. I promise," she told him.

Blaine stared at her wordlessly for a moment. Then with a sigh he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. His hands swept beneath her silky cinnamon locks, and he cradled her head in his palms. Finally, he nodded his head and swallowed, and he kissed her again--an unhurried caress of his lips proclaiming her dearness to him. "We... uh... we should eat," Blaine said, pulling away and leading her back to the desk.

They dined under the influence of candlelight and Chicago blues. Peyton grinned as Blaine rattled off stories and tidbits about some of his favorite musicians and songs. He snuck wistful glances at her when she told him stories about sneaking out of to see a highschool boy with her friend Joanne Potts in junior high or speedwalking through the Louvre with Liv during their senior trip, and his grin widened when she asked him about his own past.

The conversation turned to the case at hand as they cleared away the empty containers. Peyton pulled out the papers, divvying up pages of business and personal accounts. Blaine grabbed his stack and settled himself on the black leather of Peyton's office couch, careful to leave space for Peyton to join him.

She nestled beside him, listening to him hum along with the music while they searched for a money trail to connect Angus to Rita DuClark. "How does a man rack up this many personal transactions when all he does is work?" Blaine complained loudly. He straightened, and, making a sound of interest, he tilted his head as he stared quizzically at the page in his hands.

Peyton looked up from her own list. "Find something?" she asked, her voice filled with all the hope of a small child asking if it were really Christmas.

Blaine passed the transaction list to her, leaning over her shoulder as he pointed to a payment made to Gilda Industries the day after he was given the cure. "See that? Rita's mother adored the movie Gilda, Rita was named for Rita Hayworth, the actress who starred in it. That's a shell company for her, I'd bet my bottom dollar on it!" Blaine told her in a rush of excitement.

Peyton cocked an eyebrow and stared at him. "I didn't know you knew Rita that well..." she replied, and she realized that a sliver of jealousy had wedged itself into her words. Rita DuClark was dead alongside Vaughn. Rita was the last person on Earth that Peyton should be jealous of. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to come out like that," she apologized.

Blaine gave her a look of surprise, tilting his face so he could get a better look at her. He seemed to be appraising Peyton and finding an unexpected layer to her. He laughed lightly. "I remarked on her red hair at the party, and Rita told me about how she got her name." He shook his head, still chuckling. "Never pegged you for the jealous type," he teased.

"I'm not, and it's none of my business," Peyton blushed. There were certain things Peyton Charles didn't do. Yet, somehow, Blaine McDonough had her stalking him through graveyards, tucking him naked into her bed without so much as an introduction, and getting jealous over him. She knew she could rationalize the first two, but the latest breach of her conduct had her reeling and questioning everything.

"O-kay," Blaine replied mildly, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "It looks like there was a payment a few days before that too. Wonder how many payments were in this little layaway plan Dad had going on..."

Peyton grimaced in sympathy and placed her hand on Blaine's arm. She pointed to another payment on the day of Rita's death. "Looks like she was killed before your father finished the payments, because there's no way that Rita was going to pay your old buddy what she offered him out of these payments."

"Yeah, you wouldn't expect anyone to give Don E. that high of a percentage, would you?" Blaine agreed. He stopped and tossed the papers onto the coffee table in front of him. He leaned forward, resting his clasped hands across his knees. "It's disconcerting, isn't it... How many fathers would spend anything they had to keep their son alive...? And here I'm wondering how much money my _death_ was worth to mine."

His jaw clenched so tightly that Peyton was afraid that any moment she might hear the cracking of bone. "I can see if I can tie Gilda Industries back to Rita, but finding some way to bring Angus to justice is going to be complicated."

"He could have saved a bundle using a regular hitman," Blaine noted dryly, "but you gotta give him points for style. A simple bullet isn't enough to appeal to his sense of cruelty. Besides... Rita's dead. We can't bring up zombies in court. He's untouchable."

"We'll find a way to get him," Peyton assured him. "Just don't do anything rash." She didn't like the angry gleam she saw in Blaine's eyes, which had taken on the same unrelenting heat as the cloudless, burning blue sky stretching endlessly over a desert.

" I need to confront him, Peyton," Blaine said. It was a simple statement of fact. She knew that he'd been stewing in his anger, and he needed to let some of it out--to vent his wrath before he exploded.

She held his hands in her own. "Not alone, you don't," she told him.

|*|

Peyton knew that Blaine wouldn't wait for tomorrow. He was furious, and he was moved to act now. She spent the drive over to Angus's penthouse trying to calm him. She didn't want to give up the advantage of surprise--to tip their hand and let Angus know that they were onto him. She knew, though, that the decision was out of her hands. She wasn't ready to move against Angus, but she was trying to quickly recalculate her options as they neared their destination.

She decided to make a last ditch effort to steer Blaine from this course. "D'ya think maybe we should wait?" she asked, and the words seemed oddly familiar in her ears. It was as if her intonation were suddenly not her own and she could hear the words echo back at her.

Blaine's eyes moved from watching the highrise growing larger as they neared their destination to regarding Peyton. His lips thinned in grim determination, and it was all the answer Peyton needed. "Fine. Just follow my lead then," she instructed.

As she pulled up outside the tower of glass and steel, she discovered that Blaine had plans of his own. As she prepared to turn into the parking garage, he drew her tightly to him, and he kissed her with a searing intensity that sent frissons of heat pooling between her legs and burned the moment into her memory like a brand. Peyton knew with a terrible certainty that this sudden burst of passion was a goodbye, and cold fear clawed at her insides.

In the next moment Blaine was slamming the car door behind him and rushing across the street to duck beneath the Royal Blue awning and through the rotating glass door that lead into the lobby. Peyton stared after him in shock, her vehicle still stopped in the middle of the street, and she did the only thing she could. She pulled the keys and ran after him, leaving her car to be ticketed and probably towed.

She tossed her keys at the doorman as she rushed past, yelling, "Park it for me, would you? This is an emergency!" She ignored his protests of not being a valet.

Peyton spotted Blaine watching her from the prominent glass elevator that ran up the center front of the building as the doors closed behind him. He pressed his fingers to the inner glass as the elevator rose skyward towards Angus's dwelling high above them. Peyton felt sick as she watched him rise through the glass domed ceiling above her.

"No!" she screamed after him. She scanned the lobby for another available elevator, as a man in a beige suit ran around the marble counter flanked by two security guards. The doorman was hot on their heels. "I'm Peyton Charles with the District Attorney's office, and I need to get up to the penthouse now!" she informed them, shoving one of her business cards into the first man's hand.

"That's the only elevator that goes to the penthouse," the man told her in an apologetic tone. He tugged at the grey and black hairs of his beard.

Peyton jammed the elevator call button repeatedly, as though it could somehow hurry the carriage back to her. "Can you stop it or call it back somehow?" Peyton begged in desperation, and the man shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"It's a private elevator, express service," the man explained. "By the time I got the key from the office, it would have already reached the top."

Looking back up towards the disappearing carriage, another wave of nausea hit Peyton at the thought of riding high into the sky locked in a precarious glass cage while the people and lights below became tiny little pin pricks. Still, it didn't stop her from boarding the elevator the moment the doors opened.

She hit the door close and punched the button for the penthouse. Then she pressed herself against the only wall that wasn't glass, and she did her best to look anywhere but down. Looking up as the elevator ascended, Peyton became aware of something falling towards her--or more accurately two somethings. As they drew closer Peyton recognized the tall shape of Angus McDonough and Blaine's startling platinum hair ruffling in the night air as they plummeted past the glass elevator and crashed into the domed roof above the lobby. Peyton's legs gave out, and she fell to her knees on the floor of the elevator. She screamed, and she kept screaming until her her throat was too raw to continue.

She remained sitting on the floor until the elevator returned to the lobby, where she wandered out of the doors shellshocked. Unable to look at the mangled bodies of the Blaine and his father, she skirted the pool of blood and glass creeping across the marble tiles, and she slipped out the revolving doors while everyone else rushed forward in a panic. She could still feel the crush of Blaine's lips against hers and the feel of his body as he held her close while they danced. She needed to be away from here... to be anywhere but here.

By the time Clive found Peyton still aimlessly weaving down the street and brought her to Liv and Ravi at the morgue, she was shivering uncontrollably. She sat on the same table where Blaine had been examined, and Ravi placed a blanket over her shoulders while Liv hugged her and fretted over whether she needed to be admitted for shock. Peyton didn't feel like talking to anyone though, and she ignored the fuss and worry of those around her as she willed the numbness taking hold of her to spread until the horror and pain she felt was finally swallowed up.

Peyton could hear Liv talking anxiously to Clive and Ravi. And Peyton heard Liv shouting to them, "You can't cure a broken heart!"

|*|

Preparing to return to her job after an extended sabbatical, Peyton Charles took one last look at the bustling throng of people crowding the sidewalk on the sunny summer Sunday. She still felt every inch scarred by her experiences, but she was trying to push her way back into the world rather than succumbing to her feelings of failure or the heartache that came with her recent memories.

She'd gotten herself a green smoothie and decided to pick up something special to cook for dinner tonight so that she and Liv could celebrate her return home and to work. Standing outside the Meat Cute Charcuterie, Peyton caught sight of a familiar smile and flash of blue eyes. She felt as though she saw Blaine at least a hundred times a day in anyone or anything that reminded her of him, but this was different somehow.

She hovered near the edge of the circle of men he was speaking with, while she took the time to study his features. The same mischievous blue eyes. The same lopsided grin. The man was dressed in distressed jeans and a black Nirvana tee-shirt, and instead of Blaine's shocking white blonde mop of hair he had short brownish blonde hair that covered part of his forehead with messy shocks of bangs.

Peyton's mouth went dry, and no amount of sipping on the smoothie in her hands seemed to help. She waited till the man and his friends began to part ways before trying to approach the stranger. "Blaine?" she asked, and she impulsively reached for his bare arm, noting the black beaded bracelets he wore at his wrist.

The man stared at her for a moment, his brows drawn in surprise at this stranger accosting him on the street. "Sorry. 'Fraid you've got the wrong guy," he replied, still checking her over. He tilted his head slightly as though having reached the conclusion that she wasn't dangerous. "Name's John," he told her, as he reached into his pocket for a stick of gum. He held out the pack to her, offering her a piece. "John Deaux," he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the song that Peyton and Blaine dance to. If you like Chicago blues, this is like sex for the ears: https://youtu.be/D6jEOBJi-oo
> 
> I'm 99% certain that the next chapter will finish this particular story, looks like everything is pretty much on target to wrap up there. If it runs long I might add a short epilogue. 
> 
> We are in full on Hitchock mode now. Hope you're enjoying it. Please, leave comments/kudos if you are.


	4. Into His Arms

Peyton's mouth went dry, and no amount of sipping on the smoothie in her hands seemed to help. She waited till the man and his friends began to part ways before trying to approach the stranger. "Blaine?" she asked, and she impulsively reached for his bare arm, noting the black beaded bracelets he wore at his wrist.

The man stared at her for a moment, his brows drawn in surprise at this stranger accosting him on the street. "Sorry. 'Fraid you've got the wrong guy," he replied, still checking her over. He tilted his head slightly as though having reached the conclusion that she wasn't dangerous. "Name's John," he told her, as he reached into his pocket for a stick of gum. He held out the pack to her, offering her a piece. "John Deaux," he said.

*

Peyton stared at him, her jaw slack. She released her grip on his arm, as he raised the pack of gum in his hand as if to say, "You sure? Last chance..." Peyton shook her head, and he tucked the small rectangle of cardboard and foil back into his pocket.

"It's not possible," Peyton whispered to herself. "How do you look so much alike? Even your voice..."

"If this is a pickup, it's the damndest approach I've ever seen," John Deaux responded. His expression remained neutral, and he looked past Peyton's shoulder towards the butcher shop behind her. "Look, it's been a pleasure, but I should really be going..."

"I'm Peyton Charles," Peyton interjected, planting herself in his path as he tried to move past her. "I'm really sorry. I know this must be strange for you... it's just that you look exactly like somebody I.... somebody I used to know."

"Ahh," he replied tilting his head back and rocking on the balls of his feet. "See, that sounds like code for an old boyfriend," he suggested, his face an indifferent mask. He pushed past her, heading directly into the butcher's shop where Peyton had been going. "Sorry, but... _I_ am not _he_. I'm sure you're a lovely person, but maybe he just wasn't that into..."

Peyton's shoulders slumped, and she bit the inside of her cheek as she watched him go. The chance encounter with this man, who so greatly resembled the Blaine she knew, had ripped away all the healing she'd thought she'd done and left her shaken to the core. John Deaux paused to look back at her, and he stopped dead in his tracks at whatever he saw, his half-finished statement left dangling in the air between them.

"This guy, he didn't uhhh... dump you, did he?" John Deaux asked. The mask of indifference had melted away, and he drew his brows together and bit his lips in a look of thoughtful concern instead.

"He died," Peyton admitted, and Deaux closed his eyes with a grimace.

"Well, _shit_ ," he breathed softly. "I'm sorry. About what I said before... and for your... loss."

Peyton bit her lips, and her head gave a couple of bobs of acknowledgement. "I really look that much like him?" Deaux asked, a glint of curiosity lighting his bright blue eyes.

"Yes... You really do," Peyton told him. She longed to wrap her arms around this complete stranger and to lose herself in his embrace, pretending that he was the man she had lost and could never have again. A part of her simply couldn't believe that anyone could be so perfectly alike without being the same man.

Deaux reached for the plastic cup in Peyton's hand and tossed it into in a wrought iron trash can on the corner. "You look like you could use something with a little more kick. C'mon, I'll get you the best espresso you've ever had," he said, placing his hand between Peyton's shoulder blades and guiding her between the immaculate potted topiaries that stood behind the wrought iron bars on either side of the glass door and into the microcafe inside the specialty meat shop.

Deaux pulled one of the tall, black lacquered stools out for her by its low curved back, and Peyton sat with her back to the door. She soaked in the details of the room around her, marveling quietly at the dark wood beams cutting the white ceiling into squares and smiling at the sausages hanging from a ceiling rack over the display case counter. On the nearest wall to her a minamalist metal wall clock, which resembled a spoked wheel, told her it was 11:45 in Roman numerals. Behind the counter a chalkboard rimmed in an ornate goldleaf frame announced meat prices by the pound and shelves displayed bottles of wine and other alcohols. Two large wheels of cheese sat on a high counter with even more wine just to the side of the cash register. On the back wall near the fire exit a cow skull hung on the wall, and it struck Peyton as a bit of black humor.

"Hey, Cissie, could I get two of your world class espressos?" John Deaux asked the heavy set woman with frosted mousy hair standing behind the counter, as he drummed on the pale, polished wood with his fingers. She rolled her eyes at his blatant flattery, and he shot her a playful wink. The woman wore a black apron with white pinstripes and the Meat Cute Charcuterie logo embroidered on a patch across the breast to protect her burgundy blouse.

"Sure thing, John," she answered in a throaty voice, and--chuckling to herself--she got a couple of black and white demitasse cups and heavy saucers out and readied them on the back counter. She picked up a small glass dish with a selection of sweeteners on a small tray and handed it to Deaux. "I know you don't need anymore sweetness, but this is for your friend over there," Cissie told him with a look towards Peyton seated at the table for two by the window. Peyton smiled at the woman.

"Sounds like you come here often," Peyton said, as he placed the small tray on Peyton's side of the table along with a shot of sparkling water to clear her palate after the smoothie. Her words were met with a boisterous laugh from the woman behind the counter, who was clutching her stomach and wiping at the corners of her eyes. Deaux shot Cissie a look that was half warning and half wry grin.

"You could say that," he responded. "You know, it's coming up on lunchtime, how 'bout we throw in a couple sandwiches and a little cheese plate? Cissie did some more of that maple and sriracha windsordale that I liked come in this morning's deliveries?" he asked, turning back and forth between the two women but not really waiting for an answer.

"You keep track of what comes in the deliveries?" Peyton asked, her eyebrow flicking upwards.

"I might be proprietor of this fine establishment," Deaux admitted, taking the two cups of steaming espresso from Cissie and setting one of them in front of Peyton before sliding into the seat opposite her. He took a sip of his coffee and made an encouraging motion for her to do the same. While she blew on her drink and took a sip of the strong, rich beverage, John Deaux reached into his back pocket and fished out a black leather wallet. Reaching inside he produced an Oregon driver's license and handed it to Peyton.

"Moved out here a couple years ago seeking a more metropolitan existence... and a milder climate. In retrospect, I might have underestimated the number of overcast and rainy days..." Deaux said. Peyton gave him a half-smile as she looked between him and his license photo. "Have some embarrassing, old family photos if you still need more proof," he offered.

Peyton shook her head and passed the license back to him. She needed to stop because she knew that no proof would ever be enough unless she willed it to be. Or maybe she just couldn't bear to see those smiling, unfamiliar faces—each one another nail in a coffin Peyton didn't want to think about. "You're right about the espresso," Peyton told him, a small smile skirting the corners of her lips.

Deaux beamed at her, his smile so bright and wide that Peyton felt like she had just been dazzled by the sun. For a moment she was left seeing stars.

"Now you've done it," Cissie chortled from behind the counter as she piled mouthfuls of cheese and meats on a plate for them with an assortment of gourmet crackers. "Stroke his ego, and there'll be no living with him," she warned Peyton.

"Hey! It's your work she's complimenting... I just happen to have an excellent palate to be able to appreciate your artistry... as well as the foresight and business acumen to--"

"I rest my case," Cissie cut in as she placed the finished tray on the counter for Deaux to pick up while she assembled their sandwiches.

Peyton vowed to get up early enough to hit a spin class as Deaux plied her with new things to try, imported meats and cheeses of all characters--smoked, cured, or spiced in all manner of unexpected ways. At the same time he entertained her with funny stories about the charcuterie or talk about trips where he'd discovered this or that delicacy. All the while, he and Cissie traded good natured heckling like a practiced comedy double act. By the time they were ready to send her off Peyton was in high spirits, stuffed to the gills, and weighed down with way more purchases than she had intended—though at an embarrassingly obvious discount. Deaux seemed immensely pleased with the results despite however much money he was actually losing on her today.

Peyton hung back in the doorway, lingering at the sight of Deaux's smiling face. "Thank you," she told him, the weight of her gratitude crushing her and her desire not to go squeezing her heart so that her voice came out small and choked. Something flickered behind his eyes, and Peyton quickly composed herself before continuing. "I know it probably won't compare to your barbeque pit digging adventure... but if you're free some evening I'd love to have you over for dinner and thank you properly."

Deaux pursed his lips, clearly considering his response. "Just to be clear, this isn't just because I remind you of someone else. Because that wouldn't feel too-"

"No! It's not... It's-it's because you took a day that could have been awful, and you saved it for a complete stranger. And because I had a great time... and... I like you."

Deaux relaxed visibly, his shoulders loosening as though a knot between them had been untied. He pulled out his phone and gestured for Peyton to hand him hers. Peyton left the shop smiling and singing to herself all the way home.

*

"So what is it tonight? Dinner and a movie? More dancing? Another Nirvana retrospective?" Liv asked. She sipped her Mexican hot chocolate and eyed Peyton with a knowing glint in her smiling eyes. "You've been out every night this week," she noted. "So do I get to meet this mysterious suitor soon? It's been what... a month already?"

Peyton flinched and gestured for Liv to take a seat on the couch while Peyton switched into a strappy pair of stilettos for Liv's opinion. "Actually John is going to be picking me up tonight, and I just wanted to tell you something before he gets here."

"Oooooooo. Mysterious," Liv replied, drawing out the vowels in a wavering voice and adding ghost arms for effect.

Peyton gave her a withering glare, and Liv flashed her a thumbs up for the heels and made a sexy face for emphasis. "I told you that when I first met him I mistook him for someone else," Peyton began. She'd been procrastinating until the literal last minute, afraid of what Liv might say. She knew it was cowardly to wait to spring this on Liv, but she also knew that Liv would worry more if given too much time to think. It would probably be easier for Liv to get over the initial visual shock with John around to be himself in front of her.

"Yeah?"

"Just give him a little time to-" The doorbell rang, breaking Peyton's train of thought. "He's here. Just breathe and don't be weird around him." Then Peyton hurried to the door, leaving a confused and nervous Liv staring at the door as though unsure about who or what waited on the other side.

John Deaux rocked back and forth humming to himself as the door opened. He raised his eyebrows and whistled appreciatively at the sight of Peyton's little black dress and strappy heels as he took in the details of her carefully curled hair and her makeup. "Wow."

He grinned wolfishly, and Peyton couldn't resist saying, "Why, Mr Deaux, what big teeth you have!" He rubbed the back of his mussy ash blond hair like a naughty boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Oh my God!" came Liv's voice from across the room. Peyton and Deaux swung around to face her, their eyes wide with surprise, having forgotten they weren't alone. Peyton made hasty introductions, and John stepped inside closing the door and politely extending his hand to shake.

"I really do look like him, don't I?" Deaux said, as Liv closed her mouth with a snap and took his hand. "I kept thinking maybe it was just a line, but damn if that isn't the way you'd look at a ghost."

"I'm sorry," Liv blurted out. "It's just that the resemblance is... are you sure you don't have a twin?"

"Noooo. My life hasn't been that Prince and the Pauper or... The Parent Trap," he replied with a slight shake of his head. He raised his other hand and showed off a long colorful giftbag that was clearly designed for a bottle of wine. "We got a new Sauvignon Blanc in at the store that I thought you ladies might enjoy," he offered as Liv lifted the bag from his fingers and the pair of women shared a look of approval.

Liv brought the wine into the kitchen still sneeking glances at the couple behind her on the way. "It looks like you're both dressed for quite a night on the town," she said running her eyes over John Deaux's outfit. He was clad in a charcoal suit jacket over a silky v-neck shirt the amber of a finely aged cognac. His distressed blue jeans were obviously new, and in addition to his black bead bracelets he was also sporting a black cord necklace with a celtic knot dangling from it.

"I'm friends with an indie rock group who are celebrating the launch of their first album. The launch party is at Sky View Observatory, and a couple of Peyton's favorite stars from Zombie High are scheduled to attend," John explained. "We were going to stop by that new tapas place for a drink and appetizers before the party starts." He gave a lopsided grin, looking boyishly excited about the evening ahead as he snuck another glance at Peyton.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay up there?" Liv asked Peyton, eyeing her with concern. She added in a whisper, "You haven't been anywhere that high since..."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I'll be fine. I'm not going near any edges, and we have a few ground rules laid out. Besides, I'll be too busy staring at the celebrities and the hot guy on my arm to be looking at the view."

"We also have a signal in case she needs to leave, and I do have a backup plan just in case," Deaux interjected. "But we won't need it," Peyton assured them both, causing Deaux to raise his hands in a too familiar gesture of surrender and Liv to flash him a grin of approval.

Peyton was right. They didn't need the backup plan at all. First, they completely lost track of time talking over drinks and snacks. Then, an hour late for the party, their clandestine kiss in an empty elevator turned into them being caught lost in each other's arms when the doors opened onto the observatory floor. Red-faced, wide eyed, hands clasped together, and chests heaving--they shuffled into the noisy crowd so Deaux could put in an appearance and congratulate the band. His friends were ecstatic to meet her, and the stars of Zombie High were as overrated as Liv had hinted. Between dancing under stars and chatting, Peyton and Deaux stole shy looks at one another until Peyton finally leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Let's go back to your place." They left the party early--not because Peyton was having a bad time--but because she was having a wonderful night.

They lay across Deaux's couch smooching and cuddling while sharing their hopes and fears. Relaxed kisses smoldered, slowly burning them both from the inside as they stretched against the cushions and stared into each other's faces. Peyton brushed her forearm and palm over the swell of his cheek. Her fingers slid across his warm skin before slipping into his ash blond hair and brushing it away from his face. "Tonight was amazing, and I don't want to waste a moment of it."

"Me either," Deaux murmured, his lips meeting hers once again. The kiss swept Peyton up in a wave of bliss so sweet and thick that she might as well have been drowning in honey. She wrapped her leg around his hips, rubbing her foot along the back of his thighs as she pulled him close. Deaux rolled onto his back, bringing Peyton upwards to straddle his hips. He tilted his head back, exhaling a quiet, "Oh, God," as Peyton kissed and nibbled at his ear and began to suckle at his exposed throat. His fingers bit lightly into the soft, round curve of her buttocks as Peyton rode his hips into the cushions of the couch with a ruthless need.

Deaux's hands came up to push gently, but insistently, against Peyton's shoulders, and she reluctantly yielded. She stared down at him. Her loose hair, disheveled from his questing fingers and rolling about on his black leather couch, hung over her shoulders. Her chest rose and fell with shallow, rapid breaths from her exertions, and her expression was a mixture of confusion and annoyance at having been pulled away from an activity she was enjoying immensely. "Still, d'ya think maybe we should wait?" Deaux asked. "I mean the way we met... This has to be complicated for you... emotionally."

Peyton vehemently shook her head, bending in for another kiss and letting her fingers pull at the hem of his shirt so that she could run her fingers across the warm skin of his tummy and trail her finger nails up his sides making him shiver. His jacket had been tossed carelessly across an arm chair, but he was still far too dressed for Peyton's taste under the circumstances. "I'm tired of waiting," she admitted. "I've never wanted anyone more clearly in my llfe."

Yet in the stillness of the night with Deaux slumbering softly wrapped around her, the way he'd asked her whether she thought they should wait gnawed at her. Word for word and tone for tone it had been a match to how she had spoken those words to Blaine on that last night. Deep in her gut the voice that she heard so often when working on a tough case was telling her it wasn't a coincidence.

When the sunlight streamed into the room, washing them in the rosy hues of a new day, he woke to find Peyton playing with his hair, seemingly content. With a sleepy smile he responded by dusting soft kisses across the tops of her breasts where a band of her bare skin peeked above the toussled blankets. "Morning," he greeted. His hands cupped her breasts, so that her nipples hardened against the light touch of his palms. He rolled his naked flesh against hers, and she held him tight with her arms and legs wrapped around him.

"Mmmm," she sighed. "I was just thinking. You know how you have that whole rock and roll rebel look going on?" He chuckled against her chest and nodded as he brushed his lips against her sternum between her breasts. "Have you ever thought about rocking the Billy Idol look?" she asked giving his hair a playful tug.

Deaux stopped mid-kiss, to look up at her. His brows knitted together, and his eyes grew cooler as his thoughts turned like intricate wheels behind them. "That's quite an unusual suggestion to wake up to," he noted.

Peyton shrugged, and she pulled her lips into a mischievous grin. She brought her lips to his, dulling his senses with playful, intoxicating kisses. "I may have always had a bit of a fantasy since I was a girl," Peyton told him between kisses. "Watching the dawn lighting up your hair, it just struck me how sexy that would look on you..."

"Uh-huh," he breathed. Despite his nod his eyes brimmed with suspicion, and Peyton could almost see him drawing a veil across his thoughts so that she couldn't read them in his expression.

"Oh, I get it," Peyton goaded with a knowing tone. "Afraid I'm going to run off with the real Billy Idol if you encourage this?" He laughed in disbelief, still reluctant but growing less guarded. "We can always change it back later. I'm not gonna hold you down and force you, for goodness' sake."

He groaned in exasperation, as Peyton rolled on top of him and sat up letting the blankets slide to her hips. He licked his lips, watching the pink and golden light play across her skin gilding the peaks of her breasts. She rubbed herself against him enticingly. His resolve was clearly crumbling as Peyton ran her nails over his tender abdomen and over his ribs and breastbone. "It's really going to make you that happy?" he asked with a wince. "And I can change it back after?"

"Cross my heart," Peyton promised giving him a heady kiss.

He made an appointment with his stylist for Saturday, and Peyton planned to stop by after work so they could have dinner together. When she arrived he opened the door looking shy and awkward about his newly platinum locks, which he still wore down on his forehead.

"Hey, there, hot stuff," Peyton said. She greeted him with a quick kiss, her eyes dissecting him when he turned his back to get his jacket. "I knew that color would look good on you. Not wearing it styled up with a rebel yell?" she questioned.

"We tried it, but it looked silly. We're going out in public, afterall."

"Oh, just give it a try. For me? Please? You know I wouldn't let you go out in public if it didn't look good," she told him with an exaggerated pout. She flounced into his bathroom and rummaged through the drawer as she searched for a pot of pomade. She found it tucked towards the back of the drawer. Emerging victorious waving her prize, she opened the lid and dabbed a little of the product on her fingertips. Deaux approached like a skittish colt, reluctantly bowing his head to allow her to run her fingers through his hair, ruffling it back and pulling pieces forward. Finally satisfied, she stepped back to admire her handiwork.

What she saw froze her to the spot.

*

Her eyes wide and close to tears Peyton stared at Blaine standing before her. He nodded slowly and ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his teeth as he saw the recognition in her eyes. "And there it is..." he murmured.

"How? Why? I... I saw you die!" Peyton's voice grew louder with each word, and she brought her hands down against his shoulders in a gesture that was neither a weak blow nor a push but somewhere between the two. She was furious. She was devastated. Pain blossomed in her chest, a burning anger that gushed out of her like blood pouring from a wound. She wanted to scream at him, but she was afraid she might cry instead. Blaine didn't even flinch, but instead pulled her into his arms his face close to hers so that she was staring directly into his blue, blue eyes. "You used me to fake your own death! You used me to murder your father!"

"Oh. C'mon, Peyton," he chastised, his indulgent voice rolling over her like a warm summer night. "You were so close. This wasn't me. This was you. This was all you."

"Don't you dare try to pretend that this is my fault! What did you do? Did you get lucky? Somehow your head got cushioned, and you changed back before landing? Or did you use some poor double betting they'd be unrecognizable after that fall?" Peyton pushed against his shoulder in disgust, but Blaine chuckled and held her comfortably. She realized that his expression wasn't gloating though. Instead, he stared at her with sympathy softening his features.

"This isn't about a murder, Peyton. It's not about a zombie extortion ring. Well, I suppose, it's about a lot of murders and a zombie extortion ring, but not this. None of this. I think we need to go back to the start," Blaine explained.

Their surroundings darkened, swirled around them in Peyton's vision. When it cleared they were standing at the base of a twisting, wooden staircase that stretched heavenward up a slanting belltower. The stucco walls and tiers of rickety wood confounded her senses with the wrongness of their angles as they closed menacingly above her. She swayed in Blaine's arms as the disorientation hit her, but he didn't let her fall. "You don't recognize your favorite movie?" he asked, and grasping her hands tightly he mounted the creaking treads and lead her up the tower despite her protests. "I mean, if you're gonna crib, crib from the best, right?"

"No! This doesn't make sense," she shot back. Her feet stumbled scraping over the grain of the wood.

"You've already been ignoring all the clues because they didn't make sense," Blaine huffed as he pulled her up to the next landing. "When my dad first called, your ringtone disturbed you. Why?" he demanded.

Peyton goggled at him, and she tugged against his iron grip. "How do you know about that?" she demanded in return. Blaine merely tilted his head and answered with a cavalier glare. "It was the wrong song!" she hollared, her feet sliding over the boards as Blaine continued to pull her up the next turn of stairs.

"What song was it? Why was it important?" he continued. His eyes peered ahead towards his distant goal at the top of the scaffold of wood.

"Hallelujah... the Jeff Buckley tune," Peyton replied, her voice sullen and angry. "I don't know why it was important."

"You do know. Why was it that song?" he insisted.

Something inside Peyton broke, a dam holding back a swirling whirlpool of memories. Buffeted along by them and mercilessly drowing in the sudden influx of knowledge that she'd not had time to process, she spoke the correct answer before consciously knowing it herself. "It was the song you played that got you hired as a lounge singer. It's because the call was about you."

One corner of his mouth twisted upwards in a bitter smile, before he hammered her with another question. "How did Liv become a zombie?"

"She went to a boat party. That was where the initial outbreak happened... and she got scratched."

"And who scratched her?"

Peyton balked, and Blaine was forced to pause for a moment while he wrapped an arm around her back to haul her forward again. "You did... You were at the boat party too." Peyton's brain was still spinning as truth and lies continued to sort themselves inside her mind, and the next step of the conclusion was growing clear.

"So I couldn't have been made a zombie after her," Blaine conceded. Another landing. "D'ya think maybe we should wait?" Blaine asked, his eyes flicking to the top of the tower. They were halfway there now.

Peyton knew what he was really asking, and it had nothing to do with seeking a respite from their ascent. She didn't want to answer. She didn't want to know or think about these things, but Blaine grasped her by the arms and gave her a shake that freed her tongue and sent the words tumbling out. "It's what you said to me last night when I wanted to have sex with you." Again the words came to her even before her mind knew the truth of them. Blaine's gaze urged her to continue the story. A tear slid down her cheek. "Because you might get all your memories back in the morning, and we're not sure what that will mean... who you'll be."

"Now remember where I was when you went to bed. Where I am now," he told her.

She remembered restlessly trying to fall asleep while thoughts of Blaine outside her room haunted her. She'd longed to creep out there and snuggle into his arms curling against him, and she'd worried about who she'd find out there when the sun rose. How did I ever get to sleep at all? she wondered, remembering listening for the slightest sounds of him sleeping through the door. "You were asleep on the couch. You've been sleeping there all week," she echoed.

"That's right. You didn't really wake up after that nightmare. You're still dreaming. All of this..." he waved his hand dramatically, "...is because you're scared." Peyton inhaled sharply. She tightened her jaw and glowered at him as though that would somehow prove him wrong. "You've never been afraid of heights in your life, but you're afraid of falling, all right..."

"So... what? You're saying I'm having some kind of fevered dream because I'm afraid of commitment?"

Blaine laughed. "Is that why you change your Facebook status to get rid of guys?" His voice was teasing. He shrugged off Peyton's glare. "Nope. Thing is that you've looked all your life for someone who really got you. Treated you like more than a pretty face? Made you feel comforted? Made you laugh until it hurt? Made you feel accepted? But it wasn't Prince Charming who swept you off your feet. It was the dragon, and the name he had you screaming wasn't even really his."

"Shut up!" Peyton snapped. She wrenched out of his grasp and tried to dart away, but Blaine's arms were too fast. Before she made it two steps, he'd captured her in his grasp again. She tumbled back against his chest as his arms tightened about her, and she cursed how much she wanted to melt into him and savor the feeling of being crushed against his chest. His grunt of exertion and his harsh breathing against her throat thrilled through her body reawakening sensory memories of Blaine's touch and his body clasped tightly against hers. Then he was struggling her up the final ladder and through the trapdoor.

"Are we still pretending that all I am to you is a giant mistake?" he rasped against her ear, and his hot breath in her ear added to the thrumming of desire that pulsed beneath her skin and pooled at the juncture of her legs. They had reached the top of the belltower, and Peyton felt like a desperate animal with no place left to flee. Their footsteps shuffled across the dull wooden boards as Blaine dragged her towards one of the arches where Peyton could see the red tile roof far below in the twilight. He planted his arms on either side of her, pinning her in place with his body at the edge of the archway.

"That was a different Blaine!" she protested, and Blaine chortled loud and long, nearly bending double with his laughter. "He changed after losing his memory. This Blaine is a different person than the old Blaine," she maintained, his mirth raising her ire, but Blaine only laughed harder, tears springing to his eyes.

"Then why are you so terrified of him remembering?" he challenged, and Peyton turned her head to avoid his piercing stare. "You can lie to anyone else Peyton, but don't lie to yourself."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she demanded. She could feel the rough stucco like sandpaper against her back, as she pressed herself against the wall afraid of the edge of the platform.

"If you think he's such a different person why are you so afraid?" Blaine sneered. The evening breeze pulled at his clothing and tugged at his flaxen hair. Peyton had to fight the urge to clutch him tightly as the breeze whipping at her set her off-balance for a moment. "You know deep down that whether he's Blaine DeBeers or John Deaux it's all the same person. He's still in there somewhere. You can't divorce one from the other any more than Scotty could divorce Judy from Madeline. If you're fool enough to try, you know how this story will end."

"I said, shut up!"

"Is that your big defense, Couselor" he said with a tsk. "Because if John Deaux is still a part of this Blaine, was this Blaine always there inside the man you knew as Deaux? Who did you fall for? Do you really think you fell fresh for this new and improved version of Blaine, or did you fall so hard the first time that you've been looking for the man you thought you saw in him ever since? That question eats at you, doesn't it?" Blaine loomed over her, his face leaning in close enough to kiss her.

"And what cruel part of him are you?" Peyton shot back.

"Peyton, Peyton, Peyton..." he sighed. "We both know that I'm not him at all. I'm that little voice in the back of your mind, that ruthless need to dig for the truth. Only you could be this cruel to you... but there is another part of him that you're afraid of..." As she watched Blaine's skin bleached to a bloodless white, dark veins showing in relief around his forehead and spreading inwards from his temples and the sides of his face. His eyes glowed in the dusk, silver pupils swimming in bloody red scleras. He leered at her as he ran his fingers over her cheek, and Peyton swallowed nervously.

"Maybe the memories don't come back today, but they're still in there. Maybe he's human now, but they've thought they had a cure before. One way or another someday you'll have to face this version of Blaine," he warned. He tilted his head as he studied her. Then he slowly brought his lips to her cheek, kissing her so softly that it felt like the barest brush of his lips against her skin. His fingers slid into her hair, drawing her long locks out so he could savor how the dusky light played off them.

Their eyes met. "Isn't that why you're so afraid of falling?" he asked. Unable to hold his sanguine gaze, Peyton's eyes slid back to the drop that was mere inches from their feet. "You know how this ends if you can't accept it. Sad little Judy Barton, stupid in love and doomed to fall alone for her sins. And tragic Scotty Ferguson, unable to let go of the past until it cost him the girl again. So what happens when we stand here for real?"

"Please don't ask me that," Peyton begged. She closed her eyes, praying that somehow she could change what was about to happen.

"You know how this movie ends. There's only one way to change it. Fall with me, Peyton," Blaine whispered. His fingers closed around her arms, drawing her to him as he stepped backwards toward the ledge.

Peyton opened her eyes as her feet left the ground, and she tumbled into the sky with him. He stared back into her with those clear blue eyes that she knew so well. The wind buffetting against them stung her skin, and she clung so tightly to Blaine that her nails cut into his skin. She couldn't see the ground rushing towards them, only him, and she wondered what awaited them at the end of this plunge.

|*|

Peyton awoke with a jolt and a gasp. She jerked into a seated position, closing her eyes tightly and knotting her fingers through the roots of her hair so that her loose bun pulled tighter against her skull. She tried to calm herself, to bring her breathing under control and still the thundering of her heart in her chest. Disoriented in the darkness of her room, she struggled to get her bearings. Most of her blankets had been kicked to the bottom of the bed.

She reached blindly for her phone on the nightstand, and she checked the time. Blaine won't be up for almost two hours, she thought with a sinking feeling. I can't go back to sleep. She tried to recall the fleeting world of her dreams as the details disolved into the shadows around her. She remembered enough to know how last night's conversation with Blaine had melded with her favorite film. She was still uneasy about the questions the vivid phantasm had raised in her mind, and she wasn't sure she had adequate answers for them.

She lingered in the relative safety of her bed for as long as she could restrain her screaming nerves. In the still dark that hung over the end of the night just before dawn, she crept from her room as quietly as possible. She watched the peaceful slumber of the man lying on his back on the couch. His chest rose and fell in an easy, steady rhythm. He didn't toss or turn. She wondered if whatever was going to happen had already occured.

She paced an uneasy trail, her bare feet nearly silent against the living room floor even in the silence of the predawn. She was still pacing when Blaine woke to discover her anxiously waiting over him.

"Am I dreaming or is there a beautiful woman watching over me?" he wondered in a sleepy, teasing voice.

Peyton took a deep breath to steel herself, and she dropped her tense shoulders. She wanted her friends to be cured, but... "Sorry... I... uh... couldn't sleep," she replied awkwardly looking away from him.

  
"I guess if I was dreaming you'd be holding coffee," he added with an exaggerated grin, becoming more aware of Peyton's tense expression as he sat up, pulling back his blanket, and made space for her to have a seat beside him.

Peyton snorted softly, grinning for a moment despite her nervousness. Brushing back the loose tendrils of hair that framed her face, she sat beside him. _Ready or not,_ she thought. "So, what's the word?" she asked, turning to look at him.


End file.
